


Just A Game

by plinys



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Angst, Kink Meme, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-09 19:22:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/777109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/pseuds/plinys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the Kink Meme Prompt:</p><p>"I don't why, but I really want something similar to the last book, as in Grantaire is taken and tortured to try and break Enjolras, who is leading a revolution, but he does not break, though it really hurts, but Grantaire once told him I'd bleed to hear you talk. Or maybe that's why it hurts<br/>So, in a nutshell, I want a tragic, angsty E/R Hunger Games AU. "</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just A Game

**Author's Note:**

> So I saw this prompt on the kink meme, and couldn't resist snagging it.  
> I like angsty-au's, apparently its a thing.
> 
> http://makinghugospin.livejournal.com/11667.html?thread=2341779#t2341779

This wasn’t how things were supposed to end up.

With all of his careful made plans, Enjolras had never even considered thus an option until it was too late to do anything. 

They had all been there together in the arena, right up until the very end, when the rebels’ hovercraft came to take them away and he counted less than their usual number. 

He tries not to think about the names of those that they couldn’t get to in time. Those that had been lost to the arena.

Though there is one name in particular, one face that brings itself up to the front of his mind time and time again.

One person that didn’t make it to the hovercraft in time.

Everyone says it’s alright for him to be upset, that that would be the normal reaction in this situation, but he never allows himself to be upset. He doesn’t allow himself a break to think about what might be happening over there.

He doesn’t have time. 

There’s only one Mockingjay and he has a revolution to plan.

Enjolras doesn’t have time to dwell on his own feelings, not when there were so many people still suffering.

\- - - - 

“Damn their warnings. Damn their lies. They will see the people rise.” 

Enjolras stares at the television screen, his own reflection staring angrily back at him telling the people that now was the time to rise up, now was the time to take action against the tyrant that ruled over them. The camera crew had had a field day with filming it and now everyone breathed a sigh of relief as it was being played on every television set in Panem. 

After it’s over they’re supposed to turn it off and go along with their day, but before one of the others can turn it off, the channel changes back to some Capitol station.

There on screen is a face that he had been trying so hard not to think about. 

He looks worse the usual as he’s being interviewed – the shadows under his eyes darker than anybody had ever seen them, hands that shake from their place in his lap – he’s a husk of what used to be. Though even before all of this happened he hadn’t exactly been the most stable person stable. 

The games took their toll on everyone; there was truly no glory in being a victor. 

Somebody, Courfeyrac, moves to turn the television off, because none of them want to see where this is going. (Or maybe they do, but nobody is willing to admit.)

Enjolras barely recognizes the sound of his own voice as he says, “wait,” so forcefully that everyone seems to stop at once. Though he pays them no mind, his eyes trained on the young man on the television screen, trading empty exchanges with the talk show host.

How long had it been since the last time Enjolras had seen him? 

How long since they had been together looking at the pixelated sky of the arena and exchanging desperate kisses and worrying that it might be their last moments.

“They’re using him, obviously,” the man on the screen says in reply to one of the questions, shifting further into the seat as he speaks, “I doubt he even really knows what’s going on. He was always a bit of an idealist.” 

The words strike a chord inside of him, that Enjolras doesn’t want to admit it. 

“Is there anything that you would like to say to him,” the interviewer asks. 

There’s a nod in reply and a bit of a shuffle as he turns to look straight into the camera. As he looks at the screen, it’s as if his very being is being stared into, the way he had felt some days during their training when he talked about taking action against the Capitol. He knew that look; it was the look of disbelief, the one that tried to tell him that he was making a mistake. (It was a look that he had been trying very hard to forget.) 

“Don’t be a fool, Enjolras. Stop this war before it’s too late, you’re not going to win. You’re becoming somebody else, somebody darker, a weapon that will destroy all of humanity if given the chance. They made you into that, can’t you see? Do you even know what’s going on, out here in the real world? Do you really trust the people you’re working with?” 

After that it’s just silence as the screen cuts to black and the seal of Panem fills the screen for a moment then it’s gone, because somebody finally kills the power on the television. 

He doesn’t even hear their comforting words, the encouragement that is supposed to make it all alright, because all he sees, all he can think about, is Grantaire on that screen telling him the same sort of things that he had been told time and time again.

This time though it wasn’t in that cynical tone that he often used to rile Enjolras up. He wasn’t playing devil’s advocate. 

This time it was with a hint of desperation, like he was begging him to stop. 

\- - - - 

The next time Enjolras sees him on the screen, he’s at least sort of prepared for it.

Combeferre’s hacked into the Capitol’s broadcasting channel again, this time aimed with another promotional video asking the people to rise. 

There’s supposed to be some sort of announcement by the president – the tyrant. 

Though Enjolras probably should have expected Grantaire to be there as well. He’s something of the Capitol’s pet now, from what people have been whispering around District Thirteen. He does interviews every so often asking for a cease fire for the rebels. 

Nobody mentions the fact that he looks worse for wear every time he steps onto the screen. 

Then again, nobody likes to mention much of anything about Grantaire when Enjolras is within ear shot.

This time when he speaks his tone sounds almost frightened, but that’s preposterous, because Grantaire was never scared of anything, not inside the arena or out of it. He’s highlighting the damage done, talking about how many people dying and pinning the blame on the rebels. 

Pinning the blame on Enjolras. 

Suddenly the screen cuts away to a clip of one of the promotional videos, Enjolras standing in front of the ruins in District Eight. Then it cuts back to Grantaire again, he’s lost for words for a moment, no doubt he had seen the clip of Enjolras on the monitor. The Grantaire on screen fumbles for his words before getting back to his usual comments, just then it cuts away again – this time to a clip of Joly talking about the cruel tortures that the Capitol put him through after his games. 

In the end, the whole thing becomes a war on screen with Combeferre’s hacking fighting against the Capitol’s tech masters who keep trying to fend off the attack and put their scheduled programming back on the air. 

Finally the Capitol seems to give up and for a good thirty seconds or so the Panem logo takes up the entire screen accompanied by a broken off audio tone. 

Then the president is back on the screen telling them that the broadcast will resume when security has been reinstated, and making special point to mention that by breaking up the broadcast the rebels are trying to stop the truth about to get out.

At that he turns to Grantaire and asks if he has anything last to say, if he has any last words for Enjolras and the rebels. 

It’s with his name that the recognition flickers across his face and this time he speaks with clear determination, something that none of them had ever really seen before. “Enjolras, how do you really think that all of this will end? Nobody will be left: not here in the Capitol, or in the districts. Haven’t we seen enough destruction? And you,” he pauses as if the words hurt to say them, “in thirteen,” his eyes flash nervously at where the president stands, “you’ll be dead by morning!”

That seems to end off a flurry on stage, with a mess of images and sounds that were in that moment forever imprinted into Enjolras’s mind.

Peacekeepers stepping forward a bit too quickly.

The president snapping at somebody to end the broadcast. 

Grantaire’s attempt to continue speaking, warning them about an attack.

The camera being knocked down so that it recorded the floor rather than the two men on the stage. 

The shuffle of somebody moving across the room.

Then the sound of a blow and a cry of pain that he would have recognized anywhere, but all of its gone as blood splatters the floor that the camera’s pointed at. 

His blood.

\- - - - 

Grantaire’s warning had been just enough for them to get everybody to safety the Capitol bombed what was left of District Thirteen. 

“I know you want to act strong for everybody watching, but sometimes it’s alright to be upset. We would understand…”

But that’s what the Capitol wants isn’t it? 

They want to break him.

He wasn’t about to let them have what they wanted.

\- - - - 

After that nobody could deny what was going on over there. 

Enjolras finds himself unable to breathe at times as the reality of it all sinks into his bones.

He tries to pour his mind into their work, into the training, that way he doesn’t have to think about what he saw.

Though he has to admit that he’s more than thankful when Courfeyrac gives him a hug and tells him that things are going to get better. 

Even if he doesn’t necessarily believe it.

\- - - - 

More reports come in, this time confirming that there are other victor’s alive – the friends that they left behind in the arena are still there somewhere in the Capitol. Alive maybe, but surely not safe.

Enjolras barely listens as he hears the report. Words seem to slide one ear and then out the other: Grantaire. Jehan. Eponine. Torture. Prison cells. The Capitol.

“I’m going with you,” Enjolras says the second somebody brings up the debate about who will go on the rescue mission.

The rebuttal comes just as quick, “no way. You’re too emotionally attached to the mission.”

“Emotionally attached,” he says, as if the very idea is preposterous, “I can keep my emotions out of the revolution. I know how to keep those two separate.”

“No you don’t,” Combeferre steps in as the voice of reason in the discussion, “don’t even try denying it. When was the last time you slept? When was the last time you ate?”

When he thinks about the answer to either of the questions he can clearly see the truth. There really was no point in denying it now. Instead of saying anything else he just squared his shoulders and pushed himself out of his seat leaving the rest of them behind. 

\- - - - 

“Do you want me to sedate you until it’s over,” Joly asks with what is probably supposed to be a helpful voice. Joly’s a bit nervous too, with Bossuet part of the rescue mission; he has been pacing around the infirmary for much of the morning. 

Now though Enjolras watches as the young medic tries to offer any sort of help to make it easier. 

In the end he just shakes his head in reply, “I want to be with them, not sitting around here.”

Enjolras was nothing if not a man of action, and he didn’t like sitting around.

\- - - - 

He’s at the shooting range with Courfeyrac, both of them just trying to keep their minds off the fact that there was still no new news from the rescue mission, when things change. Everything seemed to stop at once when Marius busts into the room, “They’re back! In the hospital right now, that’s all I know! Come on!”

If Enjolras runs over there than surely nobody can blame him.

When he gets there his eyes glaze over the scene in front of him. 

Eponine was there, safe but badly injured being looked over by a Joly. 

Bahorel, who had led the mission, looked fine and was flirting with a nurse that seemed to laugh as she worked to wrap up his injured wrist. 

There was a shriek of joy and relief, before Jehan seemed to launch himself across the room to throw his arms around Courfeyrac. The two of them becoming inseparable in a matter of moments. 

Then there’s the one person that Enjolras had been waiting for. The one that he had worried about, even though he had never wanted to admit it. 

He looked worse that he had on the cameras, his bones jutted out against his skins, his hands shook even more than usual and there was a sick sort of hollow look in his eyes. 

“Grantaire,” he said slowly, expecting some sort of sign, a smile like he usually got, a bit of teasing. Even the faint press of lips against his that he had missed so much.

What he got instead was not what he had expected at all.

\- - - -  
Hijacked. 

That’s how Joly had explained it in nervous tones. 

Torture that had shaped the way his mind worked. 

Torture that had changed the very essence of his being, so that he hated everything that Enjolras was, so that he forgot almost all of the good things about him. 

Sometimes it was hard to pretend it wasn’t affecting him, but he couldn’t let it show, because that would be weakness. That would be putting his feelings above the good of the country. 

The revolution was more important, Enjolras knew that, just sometimes it was hard to remember. 

\- - - - 

Enjolras doesn’t get to talk him again, no matter how many times he asks. 

They say it’s for the best. 

He doesn’t believe it for a second.

Instead Marius’s girlfriend, Cosette, goes in there every day to try and stir up his memories, to see what things trigger an outburst and what’s safe to talk about.

Every time it happens he sits there in front of the security cameras and watches and waits. 

\- - -- 

It’s about two weeks later when he finally gets his long awaited talk. 

Though it’s only because Grantaire requested it…

He’s not nervous as he enters the hospital room. It would have been foolish to be worried about this. There are people waiting to jump in if Grantaire tries anything.

Though when those piercing blue eyes find his in a moment and there’s darkness inside of them that forces Enjolras to look away, he gets nervous all over again. 

“Hey,” Enjolras eventually says, anything to get this started.

“Hey.”

“They said you wanted to talk.”

“I just wanted to look at you,” Grantaire says. His voice is different than usual; it’s a harshness that he had never heard before. Even when they had fought before it was always different, like Grantaire had still been looking up to him. Now though the tables had certainly turned, “you’re not very big, or particularly handsome for that matter, a bit too feminine for my taste.”

Weren’t those the same qualities that Grantaire had praised in the past? 

Comparing him to an ancient god, calling him divine or angelic. 

“Well, you’ve looked worse.”

His ear piece buzzes as Combeferre tries to tell him not to provoke him, but that gets drowned out by Grantaire’s laugh. It’s just like he remembers, one thing is still the same and that’s sends a surge of relief through him. So much so, that he finds himself laughing as well.

After a moment their laughter dies off, and Enjolras isn’t sure whether to break the silence and say something before things go bad. 

Though in the end it’s not Enjolras that breaks the silence. 

“I must have really loved you,” Grantaire says slowly, though it’s more of a question than anything else. 

The words cut at his heart like ice as he nods his head and replies, “you did.”

“And did you?”

He had spent all this time denying it to everybody that asked. Claiming that it was nothing that deep, that he worried for him like a friend, but in the end the revolution came first. It always had and it always would, though the more he thought about it, the more he knew that it was a lie.

This whole time he that he had been in District Thirteen he had been trying not to break. Now he didn’t have to worry about that anymore.

“Yes,” he says quietly, taking a chance, he reaches forward to slip his palm into Grantaire’s and squeezes his hand reassuringly, “that’s why they did this to me, to break me.”

“But you didn’t break,” he asks. 

“No. I didn’t,” he said trying to be strong, “but sometimes I wanted to.”

\- - - - 

Eventually things get better, and a revolution happens, and life moves on. 

And he doesn’t break, because he has the one person that he needed right behind him. 

And Grantaire starts to remember things, like his favorite color and the way Enjolras looks when he’s just woken up. 

“Stop worrying so much, I’m right here,” Grantaire says one day when weeks have gone by and things are much better. His hands rub at his shoulders to ease the tension out of them. 

“Promise me, you’ll stand here with me?”

This time he’s not going to lose him, he’s not going to forget to look back until it’s too late. Until he’s gone.

“I’ll stay as long as you permit it.”

“Forever, then.”

And forever sounded good.


End file.
